


Two Brothers

by WolfAtSea



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Creative license on Star Wars technology, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by that tiger movie, Kylo Ren does not know how to Supreme Lead, Poe isn't doing much better, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, The Irony is strong in this one, The classic Star Wars secret twins story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-17 22:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14198955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAtSea/pseuds/WolfAtSea
Summary: Bren was the stronger one until he lost his freedom and his name. Armie used to be the timid one Bren had to protect until he vowed to rid himself of that weakness and be the best officer the Empire had ever seen.Almost thirty years later, a Resistance ship tears the Supremacy into halves, and the twins rediscover more than they ever dared to hope.Meanwhile, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren and General Poe Dameron take up the mantles of leadership in a fight that's only getting harder from here ...





	Two Brothers

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blood is Thicker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8754655) by [Flyting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting). 



Bren was always the stronger one. He was the first one out of the womb, first one up in the morning, first one out on the training ground once they were just big enough to fit the smallest of uniforms. He was fast enough to join the youngest cadet’s morning run; he walked straight and confident like his father; he was better with a slingshot. His brother Armie was the jumpy one. He was skinnier than Bren even though they were twins, and he tended to slouch, trying to go unnoticed by hiding in the corner. When there were strangers around, he would only talk to Bren.  
  
Adults all seemed to like Bren better. Father always said he was proud of him, never saying the same about Armie. Even Lina - Lina was their mother but they weren’t allowed to call her Mom so they called her Lina - preferred him because he would sit still when she brushed his hair and wasn’t afraid of the screeching kettle. They didn’t know that Bren wanted to be the best at everything only because Armie always liked to copy everything he did, whenever he could.  
  
It was very obvious, early on, that Brendol Jr. was the heir to Commandant Hux’s legacy. Armitage was only a spare.

 

 

Techie didn’t have a name. If he ever had one in the distant past, it was forgotten shortly after. At the orphanage, they called him by his number, seventeen, or Red, which even at five years old he knew wasn’t a real name. In the years that followed, having a name stopped being a primary concern when pitted against the seemingly insurmountable challenges of survival. But “Techie” kind of stuck, and he didn’t mind - because that was what he did. He knew coding, and that was all that he was good for.  
  
Once upon a time, he might have had odd, repetitive dreams where a red-haired little boy would call him “Bren”. But eventually, all his dreams were replaced by nightmares, and he no longer tried to recall who that little boy might be - he imagined it would hurt too much to remember.  
  
During his three years on the _Supremacy_ , some of his colleagues called him “Techie”, but mostly he was referred to by his serial number, TI-784. That was good - Techie liked numbers. Numbers are consistent. But at the moment he was standing in the landing dock waiting for a shuttle to the Star Destroyer _Finalizer_ because apparently the _Supremacy_ was nothing but a giant floating piece of space debris now, and that wasn’t consistent. Therefore not very good.  
  
“Have you been on the Finalizer?” Techie decided to try conversation. The engineer standing next to him, TI-822, also known as Scott, wasn’t unfriendly. And the Doctor said that talking was good. Talk to his coworkers, he suggested, insisting conversation and human interaction would make Techie _better_. But the Doctor was dead now, he was pretty sure. Blown to pieces. The medbay was on the other end of the dreadnought and cut clean through by that Resistance ship.  
  
“No.” Scott replied.  
  
The silence was back, and it made Techie uncomfortable. No, the prospect of boarding an unfamiliar ship was what made him uncomfortable, but the silence made it worse.  
  
“Are you excited?” _What? Who asks something like that? Their ship had just been blown through by the kriffing Resistance!_  
  
“... no.” Scott quirked an eyebrow as Techie mentally berated his nonexistent ability to make small talk.  
  
“Are you - no, I mean, no, forget that. I just - I talk weird when I’m, I’m nervous? Okay, I always talk weird.” This wasn’t working out at all. “I am kind of, kind of nervous right now.” He eventually managed.  
  
Scott just nodded. He might not be one of the mean ones, but he was probably not a talker either. To be honest, Techie was more than a little nervous. The _Supremacy_ was the closest thing he had to a home since - since forever. The First Order saved him, he knew that. When the blaster fire died down and those troopers in white armour first dragged him out of the server room, he thought he was done for. He’d heard Mama’s people talking about the First Order before - a bunch of Empire wannabes, really just another gang, richer and better armed. But they weren’t just that.  
  
His life on the _Supremacy_ was good. They gave him food and drops for his eyes, his own little room so his nightmares didn’t wake up any bunkmates. They let him work cresh and dom shifts instead so he didn’t run into people … often. He even had a rank, if he’d bothered to check what it was. He hadn’t stepped foot off of the _Supremacy_ during all his time there because he didn’t want to. And he guessed that was the difference - he could do things because he wanted to or not do things if he didn’t. He thought that was important even though he couldn’t say why. He was indebted to the First Order, he really was.  
  
Now the Resistance tried to kill them, and they almost succeeded. Techie was more than a little anxious.

 

 

Sometimes Father would say mean things about Armie. Sometimes Father would put a warm hand on Bren’s back and ask him why he only played with his brother; Armie was weak and timid and was only going to slow him down, Father would say. Surely some of the youngest cadets would let Bren in on their war games?  
  
“I’m the stronger one, so I’ve got to protect him.” Bren would say. “Like how commanders have to take care of their men.” Father seemed to really like that answer, and he would allow Bren to run off to find Armie. To Bren, that was enough.  
  
The adults could never understand how wonderful Armie was, they never would. They didn’t know it was Armie that invented their secret language, the one none of the grownups understood. They didn’t know when they played star destroyer on the tough leader couch in their nursery, Armie came up all the war stories and he was always the fleet admiral. They wouldn’t understand that Bren loved he was the one who could calm his brother down the quickest after his terrible nightmares; that those were the moments Bren felt truly invincible, not when Father said he was proud of him or when he bested all the junior cadets at dejarik.  
  
It was simple, really. Armie was his little brother, and it was his job to keep his safe.  
  
Until the day he couldn’t.  
  
That day, he and Armie were playing in the back garden near the servants’ quarters. The explosions that were rumbling closer and closer for the last few days were particularly loud, but Father had told them not to worry about it. Then suddenly several ships soared overhead and Lina came running out, yelling for them to go.  
  
Bren knew what to do. He grabbed his brother’s hand and followed Lina. They’d been over this before, when they were sitting in the kitchen and Lina was making them chocolate tarts for tea. One day soon, she’d said, men in ships were going to come and take them away. She didn’t want them to go with them, so they’d got to hide when they came.  
  
“Are they gonna be Rebels?” Bren asked. No, Lina said, the men they had to worry about more were their father’s colleagues. Bren was confused. They were Imperials - why did they have to hide from other Imperials?  
  
“Because the Empire needs children.” Father had said the exact same thing often enough. It meant different when Lina said it. “They want to take you and put you in a war.”  
  
_I wouldn’t mind being in a war - Father said I’d be a general someday_ , Bren almost said. But he looked at Armie, who was squirming on the stool and biting his bottom lip. He didn’t look like he’d enjoy being put in a war. Bren decided then and there he wouldn’t want Armie to fight in a war, so they were going to hide when the men in ships came.  
  
“Then are we going to join the - the Rebels, Lina?” Bren kept his voice real quiet.  
  
“Yes. The New Republic.” Lina whispered back. She suddenly didn’t look like a lowly kitchen maid. “After your father leaves. They are all holding on to the Empire, but the Empire is dead.”  
  
So now the three of them were sprinting down the service tunnels, trying to get to this secret cellar before the men from the ships could whisk them away. There were heavy footsteps down the corridor, an explosion somewhere really close by, then a thud and a strangled wail cut off as soon as it began. _Armie._  
  
His brother was on the ground, blood pouring out of a cut on his forehead, mixing with silent tears. The crooked step on the Southern second floor stairs. _Of course_. Bren started to run back, but Lina snapped at him shortly. “Brendol, go - we’ll catch up. _Go!_ ” But they didn’t have time - the men with the heavy boots were already there. Bren ducked into the nearest storage room and hid.  
  
Then there was screaming and yelling and Bren pressed his ear to the door, holding his breath.  
  
“... please don’t take him, please, he’s too young, he’s -” Lina.  
  
“Give me my son, wench.” Father’s voice. Bren felt his blood chilled to ice.  
  
“- Commandant, leave him with me please, let me take care of -”  
  
“This my last warning, woman. I’ll kill you, I fucking will -”  
  
“ - I don’t wanna go, Father!” _Armie_. “I want - Lina, Lina, I want - _Mom_ -” Bren wanted to cry. They weren’t allowed to call Lina Mom. Armie got slapped the first time he tried it, but he never learned. “No! Lina! Bren-!” Were they hurting him? Bren had to get out there, had to stop whatever they were doing to Armie, had to - but he just stood with his ear against the door, frozen solid. He’d never been this scared before.  
  
“... Commandant, _Brendol_ , please -“ Armie was crying louder -  
  
Blaster fire. Three shots.  
  
Then silence.  
  
It was the loudest silence Bren would ever hear. It was silent when, as quickly and mercilessly as the Death Star did, his life exploded.  
  
“ - where’s my boy Brendol?”  
  
“Sir, there’s no time - the Rebels are at the gates! …”  
  
Bren knew what he would see if he stepped out of the storage room now. He didn’t want to see it. Those men were monsters. His father was a monster. Bren had no idea why he ever thought he’d like to be just like him. Lina was dead. She died protecting Armie, but that should’ve been Bren’s job all along. If only he hadn’t been scared, hadn’t been a screw up. His brother was gone because he couldn’t protect him, couldn’t keep him safe even though - even though everyone said he was strong and fast for a five-year-old and he was going to be someone someday. Bren didn’t want to be anyone anymore. There was nothing left for him.  
  
He hid in the storage room for a long, long time. He heard the ships take off. The explosions moved farther away but they never stopped. When night fell and the entire campus was dead silent again, he slipped out of the second floor window and ran towards the explosions. It was the most cowardly thing he’d ever done.

 

 

The ride to the _Finalizer_ was short. The shuttle itself was cramped with personnel and Techie didn’t like it one bit, but he remembered to breathe deeply like the Doctor said and it turned out alright.  
  
Now they were standing in this giant landing pad area, carts and cargo speeders whizzing all around them. Officers were directing them to line up, and Techie and Scott was pushed to the front. He didn’t like this.  
  
_Ground yourself in your surroundings_ , the Doctor told him often. He didn’t tell Techie what he was supposed to do when the surroundings were too loud and too new and there was nothing grounding at all, but Techie let his eyes whirl around just to try. He took measurements of the hangar because numbers were soothing - _156 standard meters wide, 20 meters tall in the back, durasteel beams 15 meters across_ \- until he zoomed in on a man standing on the floor above, looking down at them. Techie thought he didn’t look very well. And so, so familiar.  
  
“Who - who is that?”  
  
“You mean _General Hux_?” Scott replied, somehow incredulous. “How can you not know who he is? He’s on the bloody holonews every day!”  
  
“I don’t know? I don’t - I guess - I don’t look at these things.”  
  
Scott was shaking his head. “Only you, Techie, only you. Even the Starkiller speech? I bet even the - _huh_.” Scott looked up at the General and back at Techie again. He did that quite a few times, narrowing his eyes. Techie felt very naked in his dress uniform. He wanted to demand an explanation but he couldn’t find the words.  
  
“You two look a lot alike, don’t you?”  
  
“ - what?”  
  
“You and the general.”  
  
“I - huh?” Techie wouldn’t know. He’d avoided mirrors and transparisteel since - since the accident. He’d turned that into an art.  
  
“Same hair colour, at least.”  
  
Techie ran a hand through his messy, choppy hair. “Coincident - I mean, it must be. A coincidence.” He suddenly thought of that dream he had long ago, a little boy who’d call him “Bren”. Did he have the same shade of ginger hair?  
  
“Yeah, probably.”  
  
The officer who was screening all the newcomers called out “Next!” and Scott gave Techie a gentle nudge. He still flinched at that, hating himself for it. The line was moving too fast for his liking.  
  
“You’re not in our database.” The officer said after Techie’s fingerprint and retinal scans, frowning into the console. “We’ll have to register you again. Name and designation?”  
  
“TI - TI-784.” He managed. “No, no name.”  
  
“No name? You’re an engineer, no?”  
  
“Yes. But I don’t - I guess. People call me Techie.”  
  
The officer looked amused, smiling into his datapad. Techie wasn’t sure if it was the good amused or bad amused. “Techie? All right. What do you do then?”  
  
“I do coding.”  
  
“What do you code, Techie?”  
  
“Everything. I mean. Anything, really.”  
  
The officer finally looked up at Techie and his eyes narrowed too, like Scott’s did just now. Techie had a sinking feeling in his stomach. The officer waved at another man who was hovering by the other screening station. “Lieutenant Mitaka!”  
  
“What is it, Branshell?”  
  
Branshell pulled Lieutenant Mitaka aside to whisper some things to him. Techie knew they were talking about him. He felt sick. Did he do something wrong? He was at his station, like he always was, when the attack happened. He didn’t even know there was a battle going on. He really didn’t do anything wrong! The officers were still whispering. He bounced his weight, trying not to fidget. He knew fidgeting would make him look more suspicious, but he couldn’t help it. Like he couldn’t help screaming in his sleep, couldn’t help flinching when people got too close, couldn’t help being a _mess_ \- and now these officers found something out about him and he was doomed, he was -  
  
They turned back to him, smiling. He hated the way they smiled. “Any … living relations?” Branshell continued his questioning, as if nothing happened.  
  
“No. Maybe. I don’t know?”  
  
“Birthplace and origin?”  
  
“I - don’t know. I was a, a slave.” Techie half squeaked. “In the Outer Rim.”  
  
“Where in the Outer Rim?”  
  
“A planet, I don’t know which, which planet, I swear -”  
  
“It’s okay.” The lieutenant cut in. “Let’s move on for now, Branshell. The general wants this all done by 1500.”  
  
So Techie got his picture taken and a temporary room assignment. He looked up but the red-haired general wasn’t there anymore. He was still breathing a bit fast when he followed some other engineers to Jenth Deck.

 

 

His sixth birthday was the last time he asked where Bren was. That day was significant because against all odds, his father managed to remember it was his birthday. Probably because, he would later think, rather bitterly, turning six meant he was officially ready to start in the cadet program. Father had him sent to his office with the humongous viewports early in the morning, and he was allowed to spend the entire day with him. He even got presents. But as the day wore on, Armitage kept flinching at the sound of his new stun blaster - he couldn’t help it; it was just so loud. He was pretty sure he didn’t _like_ blasters. He would’ve liked something soft and fluffy for his present, like the stuffed Loth-cat he left on Arkanis, but he knew better than to ask. Father kept getting these calls on the comm that involved yelling and he started drinking that funny smelling brown liquid, and by dinner time, he didn’t seem to be in a good mood anymore.  
  
“Father? Where is Bren?” All in all, he knew this was exactly the wrong question to ask, but the whole day he just couldn’t stop _thinking_. Because it was his birthday and that meant it was Bren’s birthday too, and he would’ve turned six as well. He held the silver and red blaster in his shaking hands and couldn’t stop thinking Bren would’ve loved it, would’ve loved having a real weapon to play soldiers with and _he_ wouldn’t think it was too loud. He looked down at the brand new uniform he was trying not to crease the entire day and couldn't stop thinking Bren with the perfect posture and sharp salute would’ve looked wonderful in it, wouldn’t have gotten slapped for not standing straight enough … And Armitage would’ve been happy for his brother, he really would.  
  
Only Bren wasn’t there. Hadn’t been there for almost a year now. He’d cried for him often enough, almost every day in the beginning, asking everyone where his brother was, but no one would answer. Every time those questions would make Father mad, but he couldn’t help himself. Sometimes at night, he would still dive out of bed after a particularly bad nightmare and make a beeline for the other bed, only to remember he was on a spaceship and there was no other bed. And he would feel so alone.  
  
“You are back at that again? Really, boy?” Father’s voice was a bit off. It always got like that after he drank that brown liquid.  
  
“I miss him.” He managed to say very quietly. Then the tears started to fall. He was so angry with himself - he made a promise that he wouldn’t cry like a baby after he turned six, after he became a soldier, but now he was six and dripping tears onto his father’s carpet. He told himself to stop but it wasn’t that easy, it wasn’t - not crying was also something Bren was much, much better at, and thinking about that made him cry even harder.  
  
“Great, great, now you’re crying again.” Father sounded chilling. It was worse than when he sounded straight up mad. “Tell me, Armitage, do you think _Bren_ would be crying for you like a baby, if he was here instead?”  
  
He wanted to say “Yes! Of course!”, but the words got stuck in his throat, joining the already huge lump there, making it hard to breathe. He wanted to say yes because for sure Bren loved him, so of course he would cry for him, but - but … Bren was the strong one. He never cried when Father didn’t want him to cry.  
  
“Do you think your brother would run to my chamber at night, being scared of a silly dream?” _It was just once!_ He wanted to protest. He knew better now. _And it was only because Bren wasn’t here!_ He wasn’t - “Do you think your brother would get beaten up by a girl cadet?” That was also once. Joqlin was half a year older. “Don’t you think if your brother was here, he would’ve been better without you weighing him down?”  
  
_Stop!_ He wanted to yell in his father’s face. _Stop saying things like that! Bren wouldn’t - Bren is better - you’re trying to make me hate him - I won’t hate him_ … But the words were still stuck and all he could do was keep crying. The uniform was beyond ruined now.  
  
Father stood from the couch and crouched down very close to him. Armitage wanted to shy away - Father hardly ever touched him if he wasn’t doing something wrong and needed a little discipline. But what Father said next was scarier than any beating. “Oh, Armitage, do you think I didn’t miss your brother? Brendol, my one good son? My one chance to have our family name live on in the galaxy?” Father’s big hand lifted his chin. Armitage had never wanted to flee more, but he was frozen in place. “Why are you the one here with me, hmm? I would hardly believe you are my son too if you didn’t look exactly like _him_.”  
  
“Father …” He whimpered. He wasn’t sure if he was still crying. He was screaming inside his head: _but I am your son! I am! Even if Bren’s the one you want_ \- But nothing came out of his mouth. Armitage wasn’t the one good at arguing, either. He never had the last word.  
  
“No matter.” He heard Father say right as he bolted out of the office. “I’ll stomp that weakness out of you, whatever it takes. That must be something worthy in there.”  
  
He ran into his small room at the end of the deck and was about throw that blasted blaster into the hard durasteel wall - then he caught himself in the mirror. His hair was messed up, his uniform soggy, his face blotchy with tears and snot. _Disgraceful_ \- Father would say. Bren would never let himself look like that.  
  
Something was burning in the pit of his stomach. _I’m not weak_ , he ground out. He’d show them. All of them. Slowly, Armitage Hux clipped the blaster onto his belt and stood to attention in front of the mirror. Spine straight, shoulders back. He was a soldier now, not just a weak little boy. He was going to be the best officer the Empire had ever seen, better than his Father, better than his brother, better than Tarkin or Krennic or Thrawn -  
  
He still couldn’t stop thinking, but that day was the last time he asked about Bren.

 

 

Evacuation from the Supremacy was on schedule. The last shuttle carrying dislocated personnel was docking right now, with three hours of breathable air to spare on the port side of the broken dreadnought. Retrieval teams with atmosphere suits and droids would continue salvaging technology and valuable supply. _Small victories_ , General Hux thought to himself as he stood on the passageway looking out over the shuttle bay. He’d take any victory at this point.  
  
Ren - _the Supreme Leader_ \- naturally wasn’t interested in something as mundane as evacuation. They hadn’t talked since the Resistance got away, heavy silence smothering the shuttle back from Crait. Ren had a haunted look about him the whole time, and he’d stalked off to who-knows-where as soon as they boarded the _Finalizer_. They really should’ve talked, about Ren’s ascension, about Snoke’s assets, should’ve devised a plan - at least to brief the crew and the High Command and the other star destroyer commanders, should’ve - He caught himself clawing at his collar again. It was undignified, but his mouth felt too dry and his throat still hurt. He hoped whatever Force magic Ren used on him didn’t bruise. He needed his thoughts to slow down. It usually didn’t get this bad, hadn’t in years, but really everything was spiraling out of control as he stood and his shoulder really hurt too and he hadn’t slept in -  
  
_Weaknesses_. He blinked and shook himself. Now was not the time. The new arrivals from the _Supremacy_ were lined up and screened one by one. He sent Mitaka to oversee it himself, not because the Lieutenant was adept in human resources, but because at this point all he could ask for was a few people he could trust. Theoretically, all First Order personnel were recorded in a central database. In practice, the _Supremacy_ roster hadn’t been synced with the _Finalizer_ ’s data bank since before construction started on Starkiller because Snoke had a need to stay mysterious. It was a mess. He really didn’t need a mess right now.  
  
Adjusting his collar in a futile attempt to get more air, he had the bizarre feeling that someone was staring at him. When he looked down, all he got was an impression of ginger hair and unnaturally blue eyes - something painfully _familiar_ \- he blinked again. He was most likely seeing things. Stars, he was really tired. Hadn’t been back to his chambers since before they caught up with the Resistance above D’Qar.  
  
Shrugging it off, he marched towards the officers in charge of personnel headcount, anticipating a report on how over-crowded the _Finalizer_ was now. Not fifteen minutes later, before he could head back to the bridge, Mitaka caught up to him, looking more jittery than usual.  
  
“General Hux, sir. I think there’s something you need to see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Flyting's Techie & Hux stories are so damn cute that I decided to write an expanded version with more plot set after The Last Jedi. 
> 
> I must confess I haven't read the Aftermath trilogy or _Phasma_ , so plenty of the backstory I made up myself. Hope it's still authentic? 
> 
> The title of the story comes from [ this movie ](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0338512/) with the cutest tigers ever.
> 
> Reviews? o.O


End file.
